Lest anyone think I don’t give her equal time, I’m sharing a note she wrote to my Dad concerning their joint obsession: Rabbits.

(At this point, I’m swearing you to secrecy. You have to promise you won’t tell her I posted this. *Snickering*).

Mom and Dad have some pet rabbits that they treat like celebrities. It’s cute to see them share this fondness for those critterseven though I believe my Mother takes it way too far. They each have their individual time of checking on the rabbits, and at least once a day they go look at them together.

*Rolls eyes*

Before I gag, check out this note my Mother wrote my Dad:

Did you read that last line? See what I mean about my Mother taking this rabbit thing too far?

SMH & LOL!

Join in the Fray: What’s your obsession?

I’m blogging every day in the month of April for BlogHer’s NaBloPoMo Challenge. Thanks for reading and do leave a comment!

The saying “Everybody loves a winner” probably couldn’t be more true when we are speaking of ourselves. Sure, winning and being successful is more important to some of us than others, yet I don’t believe anyone just enjoys losing or failing.

With that being said, tonight I learned how failure can turn into a sweet success.

Those of you who are my Facebook friends may remember that a few months or so ago (I checked; it was actually October 28, 2012. Wow, how time flies! o_O) my Dad attempted to make praline candy in the microwave. I got sucked into trying to “help” him, and three times in one night, this was the result:

Whelp, when I came in tonight, Daddy was at it again. This time, he was making candy the old-fashioned way – on top of the stove in a cast iron skillet.

He was just a’ stirrin’ and a’ stirrin’, and of course I got sucked in again and joined him. Daddy couldn’t find the new recipe he was using, and he had put in his ingredients from memory. Even though he and I have seen homemade candy being made a least a jillion times, neither of us could remember what to do next.

We had a good time trying to think of all the steps; laughing and cracking jokes about how my cheap Aunt Mary took shortcuts and her candy always came out too thin, thinking fondly of the fact that my S-I-L infused her candy with peanut butter (delicious!) and how when I was growing up I loved the bowl and spoon almost more than the candy and would have to beat back my two brothers in order to get it.

I did remember that at some point in the process you’re supposed to drop some of the candy “juice” in cold water; if it formed a ball, then the candy was ready to spread.

Ahem.

What I didn’t remember is that you do that when the pecans are already in the hot candy mix, because you have a very small window of time in which to spread the pralines before the candy starts seizing (learned that term from the show Chopped).

Cough.

What we would up with was this:

Candied pecans!

If I say so myself, they are delicious. Even though we didn’t get the “pralines” we were after, Daddy and I had a wonderful time in the kitchen. I spread out the parchment paper and brushed it with butter, and took the skillet from him when I saw it was getting too heavy for him to hold.

We’d done a lot of laughing and talking, and when the time came to spread the candy, we worked wordlessly, but with a rhythm that was instinctive.

The more time I spend with my Dad, the more I’m learning how very much I have his temperament and outlook. We didn’t view our candied-pecans-not-pralines as a failure – no, quite the contrary!

I deliberately left some in the skillet and went to work on scraping the pot and loudly licking the spoon; my Dad smacked his lips as he put the very warm candied pecans in his mouth.

It was a moment of sheer joy.

Daddy turned to me and said, “Well, we would have had the same result if they were whole and we broke them up, right?”

Being the Father’s Daughter that I am, I said gleefully, “You betcha!”

For Daddy and I, the glass is never half empty. He’s the eternal optimist, and I thankfully revel in this trait I received from him. Have I been hurt? Of course. Has life sometimes looked very bleak and dark, without a ray of sunshine in sight? You betcha!

The secret lies in learning how to properly view those events and circumstances that appear to be failures; to salvage whatever remains and use it to carry you to the victories that will eventually come. Understanding, ultimately, that failures serve to sweeten your success.

And you know what? Candy coated pecans taste just as good – if not better – than whole pralines!

Join in the Fray: When has your “failure” turned into sweet success?

I’m blogging every day in the month of April in Blogher’sNaBloPoMo Challenge. Thanks for reading, and feel free to comment!

I had a pretty weighty post all set to go today, yet I decided to forgo it because of all the heaviness resulting from my Aunt Bert’s demise. (There’s plenty of time to be melancholy and morose; today is just not going to be that day).

Instead, I realized that yesterday’s post included a photo of my older brother and me at ages 3 1/2 and 2, respectively. My baby brother had either just been born or was about to come on the scene.

Either way, no post about my siblings and me is complete without including a photo of the three of us:

Keith, Michelle, and Tony – Christmas morning, 19??

I remember this photo; it was taken in Germany. We were happy and bursting at the seams because it was Christmas morning and we were about to open our presents.

I look at this photo, and thankfully, I’m still happy. My siblings are yet with me, and I recognize that I am profoundly blessed.

(Am I rocking that hair roller, or what???)

Join in the Fray: What childhood or sibling memory still makes you happy?

Last night we received some very unsettling news: My Dad’s sister, Alberta, had passed away.

There are very few times in my life that I can recall seeing my Dad visibly shaken. After all, this is a man who faced the horrors of the Korean and Vietnam Wars. Last night he told me that his Mother died while he was in Vietnam. He was able to come back to Louisiana for her funeral, see his wife and their three small children, his Father, and his other family members. His respite from the war was brief, because shortly thereafter he had to go right back and continue fighting in Vietnam. I marvel at the fact that after his Mother’s death, my Dad was able to go back in such a hell-filled environment and stay focused enough to survive.

Death and carnage were all around him, and when he returned he developed a pact with my Mother and the other adults in the family: Don’t ask, because I won’t tell.

I won’t go into those few times that I have seen my Dad’s composure take a serious hit. I’m pretty sure you can understand that because my Dad is so stoic and such a soldier, those occasions had to be extremely critical times in our family.

And yet, last night, Daddy was shaken. You see, with Aunt Bert’s demise, my Dad is now the Last Sibling Standing.

My paternal Grandmother and Grandfather; Mama Daisy and Papa, as we affectionately called them, were married fo 59 years. They were just a few months shy of their 60th wedding anniversary when Mama Daisy passed away; Papa lived 12 more years and remained a widower.

Mama Daisy gave birth to 14 children. She didn’t give birth to any twins, which means my Grandmother was pregnant and gave birth 14 times.

Fourteen. times.

This, my friends, is the reason why you will always hear me say that if I can be half the woman who my Grandmothers were, I will have truly accomplished something in my life.

My Grandmother was 52 when she had my Dad. He was her “change of life baby.” His nickname was “Nookie,” and he was very much-loved, adored, and spoiled by his eight older sisters and five older brothers, most of whom were married and had children by the time my Daddy rolled around.

I remember how, at my Dad’s family gatherings, my Grandmother and my aunts would laugh and tell stories about how cute my Dad was, and how they all thought he was so precious, they wouldn’t allow his feet to touch the ground! My Dad was literally always in one of their laps! My Dad was a “late walker” because of this. He had to learn to walk when Papa finally put his foot down and dared anyone to pick Daddy up. Mama Daisy and my Aunts (and even my uncles) would howl with laughter when they described how my Dad would crawl from person to person, whining and begging for one of them to pick him up. My Aunt Della (the oldest sister) would always deliver the punch line:

“Nookie got so mad when we wouldn’t pick him up, till one day that boy just stood up and walked!”

I didn’t know all of my Dad’s siblings; a few of them died before I was born. I did get to know most of them, and I reminisce on how much joy and laughter was present at their gatherings. My Daddy’s family is loud, boisterous, and demonstrative in their affection for each other. (My Mother’s side is almost the polar opposite; quiet, conservative, and very restrained).

My Dad was the baby of his family, and yet when Papa died Daddy became the family’s leader. He was the one selected to transact all the family business; the one all his siblings – and even his nieces and nephews – turned to when they had to make major decisions.

He was the one his brothers-and-sisters-in-law called when they had to make funeral arrangements for his siblings.

And now, he’s the last sibling standing.

I can’t begin to imagine what that must be like. My immediate family is small; I only have two brothers. Thankfully, even my Mother and Father are still living. My love for and need for them is as essential to me as the air I’m breathing. I absolutely cannot fathom living in a world one of them is no longer a part of. And yet, my Dad has had to do this 15 times – not only for his parents, but for each of his 13 siblings.

I’ve said it before; I understand the inevitable nature of “the circle of life.” I had two miscarriages during my marriage; the second time with twins during my second trimester. My husband died five years later. So, I’ve dealt with the reality of death; the sense of pain and separation that intrinsically accompanies it. Death is an inescapable reality that stretches forth its cold, grasping hands into our lives one way or the other. It leaves us no choices; we have to deal with it until, at last, its hands touch us.

I don’t know what the future holds; I don’t know which of my two brothers and I will be “the last sibling standing.” I can only borrow from my Dad’s example. I can hold he and my Mother close to me, and enjoy the gift of the present moments that we have together.

I can love out loud; boisterously and demonstratively, the way he and his sisters and brothers did, so whenever it comes time for one of us to be the last sibling standing, why, it really won’t matter.

Join in the Fray: In what ways can you “love out loud?”

I’m blogging every day in the month of January inBlogher‘sNaBloPoMoChallenge. Thanks for reading, and feel free to comment!

Yet, there’s nothing I can say without tearing up/breaking down/crying, so I think I’m going to try to be a big girl and keep this simple.

Happy Birthday to the bestest Daddy in the whole wide world. I could not have asked for anyone better for my Father, provider, and protector. A man who was unashamed about the fact that he loved his wife, two sons, baby girl, and his country. One who stressed the importance of maintaining a relationship and fellowship with God – one who took us to church instead of sending us. A man who made sure his wife was a stay-at-home-Mother to his children, and made sure his family always had a comfortable place to live, food, and clothing.

A man who stressed to his children the importance of reading, gaining knowledge, and becoming educated. A man who embraced diversity, yet instilled in us the understanding that we were never to allow anyone to intimidate us or make us feel less than.

A man who, aside from my late husband, was and always has been the biggest supporter of my dreams, goals, and aspirations – even the ones he didn’t personally agree with. No matter where I was or what I was doing, this is the man I could always count on to love me unconditionally – no matter what.

A Dad who kept his promises, because “his word was his bond.”

Our birthdays are one day apart; mine is the 20th, and my Dad’s is the 21st. Since the time that I can remember being alive, my Dad has always told me that I was “The bestest birthday present” he had ever received.

Not only did my Dad and I celebrate our birthdays, Thanksgiving is also “our” holiday.

Happy Birthday to the bestest Daddy in the whole wide world. I love you and appreciate you more than you can ever know.

Thank you, dear Lord, for my Dad.

Join in the Fray: What makes your Dad “the bestest Dad in the whole wide world?” If you have children, what memories are you making for them?

Last week I had the privilege of driving my Dad to an appointment at the VA Medical Center in Alexandria, LA. The hospital is located a little less than 110 miles from my parents’ house, so this trek to the VA qualified as a mini road trip.

Traveling with my Dad is fun; he’s a sporadic talker so we enjoyed periods of comfortable silence and engaging conversations. This time our conversation on the way to Alexandria was spotty at best; I drove to the hospital in what amounted to a deluge yet made it there safely (all courtesy of my Dad’s back-seat driving ability, of course).

I knew we were headed to the VA hospital, yet I have to admit I was still taken aback by the sights and sounds that greeted me on our arrival: Military personnel, the vast majority of them male, in various states of mental and physical health. So many of the men were in wheelchairs or on crutches; I even spotted a blind soldier making his way down the hallway with his white cane, his wife’s hand resting gently on his arm.

Glancing at my Dad, I fought an overwhelming urge to break down and weep as he and I walked that narrow hallway. I’d already noticed last year that his steps were slower, and the stoop that seemed slight to me before we arrived at the facility was now glaringly obvious. I took some deep breaths to keep myself from tearing up, and instead elected to deliberately make eye-contact with each serviceman who glanced our way. I gave them a small nod of appreciation that silently said, “Thank you. I appreciate you.”

This is why we do it

This is worth the pain

This is why we fall down

And get back up again

This is where the heart lies

This is from above

Love is this, this is love . . .

My Dad fought in two wars during the course of his Army career; the Korean Conflict and Vietnam. I’m ashamed to admit that it wasn’t until a couple of years ago that I genuinely recognized the magnitude of this, even though I knew that he had sustained service-related disabilities. The enormity of my Dad’s service finally hit me when a friend, whose father had also fought in Vietnam, described to me how his gregarious, jokester of a father went off to fight, only to return as another man; this one paranoid, drug-addicted, abusive, and suicidal. His father eventually took his life.

It’s in the soul of a city

What it does after it crumbles and burns

And it’s in the blood of a hero

To know where he goes he may never return

The words to Love = This by The Script played constantly in my mind the entire day. I looked at those men and women; so many of them now in their senior years, broken and bruised, and all in the name of serving their country. I thought about the photos I’ve seen of the young version of my Dad, proud and stalwart in his crisp Army uniform, and tried to picture the same younger versions of the persons who shared the hallway and waiting room with him.

My Dad, Columbus Matthews

Love is why we do it

Love is worth the pain

Love is why we fall down

And get back up again . . .

I sat there, and when my Dad went in to see the doctor I silently thanked God for bringing him home those many years ago, alive and whole. I asked God to forgive me for my self-centeredness and ingratitude, my failure to recognize what a precious gift my Mother, brothers, and I were given in getting my Dad back. Just the thought of that gift moved me to ask Him to bless and strengthen the families of those who were not as fortunate as my family was. I prayed for my friend who had lost his father, and for other fatherless and motherless sons and daughters whose names I would never know. I prayed for the thousands of servicemen and women all around the globe, separated from their families yet willing to serve the country they love.